Nelion wasn’t the only realm shaken by the fiery destruction of the Dark Forest.
The tension in Asnexis Nèons, the divine realm of the Constellations, was suffocating. What was once a place of celestial harmony now bristled with unease and suspicion. The disappearance of the seven Constellations, coupled with the destruction of the Dark Forest of Tivera, had shaken even the most steadfast gods.
The Grand Council Hall, a vast chamber beneath a shimmering dome of starlight, held the remaining Constellations. Their ethereal forms radiated divine energy, but the usual confidence that marked their presence was replaced with uncertainty.
For millennia, the realm had been impenetrable, untouched by mortal hands or outside forces. But now, with the fall of seven of their own, the gods faced an unsettling truth: the enemy might be one of them.
The God Demon Hound’s growl reverberated through the chamber, his shadowy form towering over the others.
“This should never have happened. No mortal can reach this realm. Whatever harms the seven is one of us—or aided by one of us.”
The Constellation of Divine Judgment, draped in radiant golden armor, stood with his hammer resting heavily in his hands.
“It’s a betrayal,” he said firmly. “Nothing else explains it. And we must find the traitor before they strike again.”
The Owl God of Knowledge, perched on his crystalline branch, clicked his talons softly.
“We were warned about this long ago.” His eyes, twin galaxies of light, turned to the others. “Do you not remember what Cenis told us before he left?”
The room fell silent as the Owl’s words hung in the air.
Millennia ago, Cenis, the Creator, had gathered the Constellations one last time before vanishing into the cosmos. His parting words had lingered in their minds like a haunting echo:
“Your power binds the mortal and divine. But beware—within your light lies shadow. If one of you strays, the balance will break, and the world will burn.”
The Goddess of the War Maiden broke the silence, her spear crackling with celestial fire.
“We never imagined those words would turn against us. But if one of us has truly strayed…” She let the thought hang, her fiery eyes narrowing.
The Twin God and Goddess of the Four Elements, their forms swirling with water, earth, fire, and air, spoke in unison.
“If there is a traitor, we must act swiftly. Their betrayal has already cost us seven of our own and threatens the balance of creation itself.”
The God of Prowling Fire, his molten skin glowing faintly, leaned forward.
“Enough speculation. If a traitor exists, who is it? Who among us has motive—or worse, the means?”
The God Demon Hound’s eyes glinted like burning coals as he turned to the others.
“The seven who fell had secrets of their own. Ambition, greed, envy—do not pretend that we are immune to these flaws.”
The Battlefield Lunatic, his scarred form trembling with excitement, let out a harsh laugh.
“Maybe it’s all of us! Maybe we’ve all strayed, and we’re too blind to see it. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
The Divine Judgment slammed his hammer into the ground, silencing the room with a wave of golden light.
“This is no time for games, Lunatic. We must focus.”
The Owl God spoke again, his voice calm but heavy with meaning.
“If there is a traitor, they will reveal themselves in time. But this… this is bigger than betrayal. I have scoured the ethereal archives, and what I found troubles me.”
The War Maiden tilted her head.
“Speak plainly, Owl. What did you find?”
The Owl hesitated, his feathers ruffling.
“Traces of power older than us. Older than Cenis.”
A collective murmur spread through the chamber, disbelief rippling like a shockwave.
The God of Divine Judgment’s voice cut through the noise.
“Older than Cenis? Impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” the Owl said, his galaxies dimming. “We’ve always assumed Cenis was the beginning. But what if he wasn’t? What if this force predates him—and us?”
The Twin God and Goddess swirled in agitation, their voices harmonizing in urgency.
“Whether it is betrayal or an ancient force, we must act. The seals of creation are tied to us. If they are broken, so is the balance of all realms.”
The Battlefield Lunatic grinned, raising his axe high.
“Finally! Let’s stop sitting here like lost little stars and do something. If this force wants war, we’ll give it to them!”
The War Maiden rolled her eyes but nodded.
“He’s reckless, but he’s not wrong. We need scouts. We need fortifications. And we need to be ready for anything.”
The God Demon Hound growled in agreement.
“Strengthen the divine barriers. No one enters or leaves our realm without detection. If there’s a traitor, they won’t escape.”
The God of Divine Judgment raised his hammer, his golden light flooding the chamber.
“And we send our best to the mortal realm. They must uncover the source of this power—and stop it.”
The Constellations murmured their assent, their divine forms glowing with renewed purpose.
As the council adjourned, the Owl God remained behind, his talons gripping his branch tightly. His galaxies flickered as he gazed into the void above.
“We are not invincible,” he murmured to himself. “If this force can harm the seven, it can harm us all. And if it reaches the mortal realm unchecked…”
He didn’t finish the thought, but the unease in his voice lingered like a shadow.
Above the Grand Council Hall, the stars shimmered faintly, as if trembling under the weight of a threat older than time itself.
The Council of Constellations was silent, the weight of their Creator’s ancient rules heavy on their minds. In the celestial chamber of Asnexis Nèons, where starlight wove patterns of infinite beauty across the dome, the divine beings sat in uneasy contemplation. Before them loomed the Divine Fruit Tree, its gnarled branches bearing the dim fruits of their seven fallen companions.
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The silence was broken by the God Demon Hound, his voice a low growl that echoed like thunder.
“This breach,” he snarled, his crimson eyes narrowing, “was no accident. Someone tampered with our realm, and it wasn’t mortal hands.”
The War Maiden tightened her grip on her spear, her voice sharp.
“Mortals couldn’t breach our protections. It had to be one of us.”
A ripple of unease passed through the room. To suggest that a god had betrayed them was blasphemy—but the evidence was undeniable.
The Creator had left them three immutable laws:
1.Non-Interference: The gods were forbidden from directly influencing mortal affairs, especially war.
2.Autonomy: Each god’s domain was sacrosanct; meddling in another’s power was strictly prohibited.
3.Presence Limitation: The gods could not linger in the mortal realm, as their divine essence could destabilize its balance.
The Owl, God of Knowledge, perched on his crystalline throne, clicked his talons against the branch. His galaxies-for-eyes glimmered as he spoke.
“Our Creator gave us these rules for balance,” he said softly, his voice measured. “But perhaps we misunderstood their purpose. Or worse, we allowed our arrogance to blind us to the consequences of breaking them.”
The God of Divine Judgment struck his golden hammer against the ground, the sound reverberating with authority.
“And now we see the cost,” he said, his tone grim. “Seven of our own fell because they strayed. And now, their light dims. The mortals’ newfound power could only come from here—from us.”
The God Demon Hound growled again, his shadowy form bristling.
“Then we must root out the traitor/s among us. If one of us has betrayed the balance, their punishment will be absolute.”
All eyes turned to the Divine Fruit Tree, its colossal form glowing faintly. The fruits—each tied to a Constellation—hung heavy on its branches.
Drac’s fruit, once a blazing ember, flickered weakly.
Snake’s fruit, once sleek and silver, shimmered faintly like fading starlight.
Tiger’s fruit, golden with envy, now hung pale and muted.
Peacock’s radiant orb, once alluring with hues of desire, was dim and lifeless.
Fox’s fruit, pulsing with gluttonous energy, flickered sporadically.
Bull’s treasure-like fruit gleamed faintly, its once-brilliant glow now dull.
Griff’s serene light was barely visible, a shadow of its former self.
The War Maiden’s fierce gaze softened as she looked at the dim fruits.
“They aren’t gone,” she said quietly, “but they are lost to us. Their essence still exists, but it no longer belongs here.”
The Twin God and Goddess of the Four Elements, swirling in harmony, spoke in unison.
“The Creator warned us that balance is fragile. Their fall has shaken the foundation of this realm—and the mortals are already reaping the effects.”
The Constellation of the God of Prowling Fire, his molten form glowing faintly, stepped forward.
“The mortals couldn’t have done this alone,” he said, his voice like crackling embers. “No mortal can access our realm. Someone let them in.”
The Owl’s feathers ruffled as he turned to address the council.
“There is precedent for this,” he said cautiously. “Our Creator once spoke of forces beyond us—beings as old as the tree itself, whose power rivals our own. Could one of us have sought their help?”
The God Demon Hound snarled, his claws scraping against the ground.
“Such forces are forbidden. If someone invoked them, they'd doom us all.”
The Battlefield Lunatic let out a maniacal laugh, his battle-scarred from shaking with glee.
“Then let’s find them!” he roared, raising his axe. “Forget this sitting and waiting. Whoever betrayed us won’t escape my blade.”
The God of the Double-Edged Sword, his voice calm but sharp, interjected.
“Your chaos will only sow more discord. We must act with precision. A misstep here could unravel the entire balance.”
The Owl clicked his talons again, his galaxies-for-eyes flickering with grief.
“The Creator left us these rules not as chains, but as guidance. Non-Interference was meant to protect the mortals from our hubris. Autonomy was to prevent us from turning on each other. And Presence Limitation… was to preserve the delicate balance of life.”
The God of Divine Judgment looked at the dimmed fruits, his golden hammer resting against the ground.
“We’ve failed,” he said softly. “Not just our fallen brethren, but the mortals as well. This imbalance is of our own making.”
The War Maiden’s voice was steady, but her hand trembled as she gripped her spear.
“Then let these dim lights remind us of what we stand to lose. If we fail to act now, we risk more than our realm—we risk everything.”
The Twin God and Goddess nodded.
“The Creator’s silence is a test,” they said. “And we must prove worthy of the balance we were entrusted to protect.”
The Constellations stood united before the Divine Fruit Tree, its dim fruits swaying gently in the celestial breeze. They made a solemn vow:
They would uncover the traitor. They would find the source of the mortals’ newfound power. And they would restore balance to the realms, no matter the cost.
As the council adjourned, the Owl remained behind, his gaze fixed on the tree.
“Older forces,” he murmured to himself. “If they’ve awakened, even we may not be enough to stop them.”
Above Asnexis Nèons, the stars flickered faintly, as if trembling under the weight of an unseen threat.
—————————————————————
In an unfamiliar wasteland, far removed from the ruins of the Dark Forest of Tivera, a strange stillness hung in the air, the world held its breath. Shadows danced across the remnants of a once-vibrant land, and the faint glow of lingering magic pulsed weakly beneath the charred earth. At the heart of the devastation, cradled by the remnants of nature’s resilience, lay a small figure—unmoving, yet untouched by the ruin around her.
Nyx.
Her body remained still, her form nestled against the scorched ground. Silver hair, dulled by soot and ash, caught the faintest glimmer of moonlight breaking through the cracked canopy. The magic of the land clung to her like a protective cocoon, refusing to let her fall completely to the abyss.
Then, a twitch.
Fingers stirred. Eyelids fluttered.
Nyx opened her eyes.
The world greeted her in the shadows. Her vision blurred, an indistinct haze of shifting grays and faint glows that seemed to move and dissolve as she blinked. Shapes loomed indistinctly in her peripheral view, but her gaze refused to focus. Panic flared briefly in her chest, but a subtle hum of magic calmed her racing heart, as if whispering reassurance.
The swirling designs within her irises pulsed faintly, their once-bright glow now dim, struggling to pierce the murkiness around her. She blinked again, but the shadows refused to clarify. Everything felt muted—distant, yet unbearably close.
Her hand reached out instinctively, brushing the cracked, warm earth beneath her. The texture was rough and unfamiliar, and she dragged her fingers slowly over the surface, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Ash clung to her fingertips, cold and dry, while a faint warmth pulsed faintly beneath the surface, almost as if the ground itself was breathing.
“Where…?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
The question hung in the air, met only by the oppressive silence of the ruined forest. Nyx struggled to push herself up, her body feeling heavy, as though the weight of the entire forest pressed against her shoulders. Her breaths came shallow and uneven, the air thick with the acrid tang of charred wood and faint traces of magic.
Her vision wavered again. Flashes of light danced in the corners of her perception—soft glimmers that felt both real and illusory.
She blinked harder, trying to clear her sight. Slowly, faint outlines began to emerge. Jagged stumps where trees once stood. Thin, skeletal branches reaching skyward like supplicants begging the heavens for mercy. Yet the edges of her view remained stubbornly indistinct, and a soft hum echoed in her ears, like the remnants of a distant melody.
Then came the voice—the one she knew so well.
“System reboot complete,” it said, calm and clear in her mind. “Welcome back, Sovereign.”
Nyx froze, her breath catching in her throat. “Sovereign?” The title felt heavy, foreign, as if it didn’t quite belong to her. Yet, as the word echoed in her mind, a faint spark stirred within her—something new, something powerful.
She pushed herself upright, her trembling hands finding balance against the scorched ground. The motion sent a wave of dizziness washing over her, and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to steady herself. When she opened them again, the swirling patterns in her irises flared momentarily, their light cutting through the murkiness like a fragile beacon.
Though she still struggled to make sense of her surroundings, her vision caught faint traces of movement—a flicker here, a shift there. The ashes stirred subtly, carried by an unseen force, and the faint remnants of magic seemed to pulse faintly around her.
Flashes of memory began to resurface, sharp and overwhelming. Golden flames. The constellations are standing frozen. A blinding light consuming everything. She reached for these fragments, but they slipped through her grasp like smoke. Only one thing was clear: something had changed.
Her body felt different, alive with an energy that was both foreign and familiar. She could feel it thrumming beneath her skin, an untamed force that seemed to respond to her emotions. Yet, the weight of her transformation was tempered by an unsettling realization.
“I can’t… see,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. She clenched her fists, her frustration rising. “What’s wrong with me?”
As if in response to her fear, the system spoke again.
“Warning: Visual clarity permanently diminished. Sensory enhancements and alternative perception systems in progress. Please remain calm.”
Her frustration eased slightly, but the unease lingered. The faint light within her eyes pulsed again, illuminating the immediate area for only a moment before dimming once more. Despite her impaired vision, she could feel the magic surrounding her—its presence tangible, almost alive.
Nyx rose to her feet unsteadily, her legs trembling beneath her. The swirling patterns in her eyes flared briefly, revealing fragmented glimpses of the ruined forest. The devastation stretched endlessly before her, a haunting reminder of what had been lost. Yet, amidst the ashes, she sensed something resilient—a faint heartbeat of life refusing to be extinguished.
With each unsteady step, her confidence grew. Though her vision remained clouded, her resolve sharpened. She didn’t know what had happened to her or what awaited her beyond the ruins, but she knew one thing for certain: she was still here.
The world hadn’t seen the last of her.